


off-the-clock assistance

by Bloodsbane



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Martin, Beta/Omega, Cuddling & Snuggling, Explicit Consent, Fluff and Humor, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Jon, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: Jon gets his heat late one night in the archives. Martin helps as best he can.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 411





	off-the-clock assistance

**Author's Note:**

> cw:  
> > terms used for jon are clit/cunt/hole 
> 
> special thanks to osiris for beta-reading!

Martin’s senses might be dull, as a beta, but his instincts are sharp enough to make him pause outside Jon’s door. He still finds it a bit ridiculous that he has to check the archives so late just to make sure Jon isn’t asleep at his desk. It’s bad enough that Jon gave the cot to Martin; the least he could do is leave work when he’s actually supposed to, if only to save Martin the guilt. Ideally, he would do it to spare his poor back, or shoulders, or all the other spots Martin is sure must ache after slouching over so much. Or he could just kick Martin out of the damn cot. He’s forceful, especially for an omega - he could do it. 

So, no, Martin isn’t surprised to hear Jon is still in his office. It’s more the quality of the sounds that make him pause. Something about them - as well as something in the air - makes him hesitate before stepping into view. What is it? Is it a smell? Martin sniffs the air, trying his best to detect anything like distress, but he can’t make any sense of it beyond ‘not quite normal’. Sometimes Martin wonders if his days spent living with his mother have killed his nose, growing up in a place where sickness and stress dominated the atmosphere. 

“Jon? Hey, are you alright?” he calls, still on the other side of the wall. He hears Jon breathing a bit too heavily.

“I- I’m fine,” Jon replies unconvincingly. After a few seconds, he adds, “Martin, ah, do you think you could bring me, um, some tea, or something? Something to drink?”

Martin honestly can’t recall the last time Jon asked him to bring tea, if it’s ever happened. Caught off guard and eager to help in any way Jon will allow, Martin simply responds with an affirmative before scurrying off to the break room. 

Meanwhile, Jon sits back in his chair, trying to pull himself together despite the sensations broiling in his stomach. The entirety of his body from the naval down is prickling with a familiar and unwanted warmth. 

This isn’t _fair_. It’s been so long since Jon has gotten hit by his heat. Usually he catches them in time to take suppressants, and these last few years have been stressful enough that it barely ever comes around. So how come it happens now, when he’s the most stressed out he’s been in his life, what with his undeserved position at his strange job that deals in ghost stories and _worm ladies?_

Jon forces himself to take a long, deep breath. Fretting about all that isn’t going to help with his current situation, namely the damp between his legs. If he doesn’t do something soon, he’s going to soak through his underwear. Jon wonders if it’s better or worse that he’s wearing a skirt today. Usually skirts make heats easier to smell, but it’s a bit of a gamble with Martin. His beta assistant has never demonstrated a very sophisticated sense of smell or taste - on more than one occasion, he’s mistaken alphas for omegas, or thought a fellow beta was an alpha. Strangely enough, this has never seemed to hinder his rather annoying ability to tell when someone is upset or feeling unwell. As someone who relies heavily on scenting to discern intent and tone when holding conversations, this has always struck Jon as more than a little unfair.

Of course now he can’t help but wonder if it’s a blessing in disguise. It’s possible he might manage to get out of this without Martin noticing his heat. If he could just get outside and get a cab, perhaps… 

But even as he has the thought, Jon knows it won’t work out. The heat is already making him tremble, making him pant where he sits. His heats aren’t usually this bad, but it’s been a while. Making up for lost time, he thinks darkly. Then, hearing Martin’s footsteps and smelling the tea he’s brought, Jon tries to sit up straight and control his breathing, mind scrambling to think of a new plan. 

Martin steps into the office and only hesitates for a second before moving over to the desk and giving Jon his tea. He’s got a look on his face, but it’s not so different from his usual looks, Jon thinks. They’ve managed to develop some odd little routine over the last few weeks, where Martin will check up on him late at night and kick him out of the building to get some rest at home. Jon would complain about a subordinate telling him what to do if they weren’t technically off the clock whenever it happened, or if he wasn’t the one who personally yielded the cot he previously used to spend nights in the archive. He simply didn’t have much of a leg to stand on in terms of counterarguments, so he always left, though begrudgingly. 

Martin is polite enough to wait for Jon to take a shaky sip of his drink before asking, “ _Are_ you okay?” 

“I’m… fine. I’m just, uh, tired.”

“Are you sure?” Jon has to wonder if living in the archives has done something to Martin, because he doesn’t stutter so much anymore. At least not at times like these, when it’s just them and the empty archives, in the sleepy off-hours. “Because you look a bit… well, kind of sick?”

“I’m not sick,” Jon snaps, too quickly. It only makes Martin’s expression darken, and he realizes he’s made a mistake. “Really, I’m not sick.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Martin mumbles. And then, before Jon can do anything about it, the man reaches out a hand and rests the back of it against Jon’s forehead. 

Jon knows he’s hot to the touch; if he wasn’t already because of his heat, he must be now, with how quickly his heart begins to beat. Martin’s skin is delightfully cool against his, and when Martin lets his hand fall to rest on Jon’s, gently prying the mug from his iron grip, he can’t help but notice how large Martin’s hands are. Obviously, he knows Martin is a little big. Taller even than Tim, and broad-shouldered, with thick arms and a soft middle. He’s light-footed when he wants to be, but if he’s in a hurry, Jon can feel Martin’s footsteps as he travels throughout the archives. Right now, standing right up against the desk between them, Martin seems to loom over Jon. The dusty old ceiling lights cast his expression in gentle shadow, making it difficult for Jon to read him. In fact, it isn’t until Martin puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder that he realizes he’s completely missed everything the other man has been saying for… he has no idea how long.

“What?” Jon blinks, trying to focus, and feels himself shiver at the relatively minute amount of contact Martin has established. Absentmindedly, he shrugs the hand from his shoulder. “What did you say?”

“I said you should lie down,” Martin repeats. His tone is uncharacteristically firm. He’s already walking around the desk to Jon. “You look like you need it.”

“I don’t-”

“Jon, it’s nearly ten, can you please not argue with me? You should have been home hours ago anyway.” 

Damn him for being right and making sense. Jon is momentarily struck dumb with the realization that this whole thing could’ve been avoided if he’d just gone home when he was supposed to for once. It’s enough time to allow Martin to grasp him carefully by the elbow and help haul him onto his feet. 

Switching gears, Jon decides to be helpful, and is first to step out of the office. Maybe if he can get to document storage and appease Martin’s coddling quickly enough, Martin will leave him be and Jon can try… dealing with this, alone. 

It isn’t until they actually get to the room that he remembers the huge, glaring flaw in his plans. As Martin moves aside some papers and boxes from the cot, Jon subtly presses his thighs together and crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. “Martin, what do you plan on doing, if I’m in here?”

Martin looks surprised at the question. “Oh, I dunno. I can… Well, uh, I’m sure there’s somewhere I can settle down. Maybe a couch?”

“There aren’t any couches in the archives.” 

“I’ll find something. Look, you need the bed more than I do.” 

Jon notices Martin’s aborted gesture to guide him onto the cot. For some reason, that strikes him harder than anything else that’s happened. Or, rather, his reaction to it. Part of him hates this, all of it, and resents Martin for being so _caring_ and _available_ when Jon is in the middle of a personal crisis. 

The other part of him despairs at the way Martin pulls away, tucking his hands back at his sides and doesn’t put them on Jon, push him onto the cot, hold him against the sheets and-

Jon sits himself down. 

Martin kicks away a little pile of clothes at the foot of the cot. Jon can smell his nervousness, his worry. “I’m fine, Martin,” he says, again, and this time the lie is less for his own sake. 

“Look, I believe you- mostly. I mean, I believe that you’re not, um, dying, or something,” Martin says. “But you’re still obviously unwell, so I’m going to get you some water and then leave you to it, but you really have to try getting some sleep, okay?” 

“...Okay.”

“Water will be better than tea, I think,” Martin mumbles, already turning away. “Something cool. There isn’t any medicine stashed somewhere, is there?”

“Not that I know of,” Jon replies a little miserably. 

“Be back in a second, then!” 

Once Martin’s gone, Jon expels a huge sigh and then grimaces, pressing his thighs together with intent. A delightful pulse of pleasure gleefully encourages him to continue, but the thought of Martin coming back and finding him with his skirt hiked up, fingering himself open, is as mortifying as it is arousing. Jon tries to lean into the more sensible response. Pushing himself fully onto the cot, Jon scoots until he’s pressed into one corner against the wall. 

It really doesn’t help that the cot smells like Martin, now. It’s a very natural scent, like sweat and idle thoughts, and a weak, underlying musk. Betas have much subtler scents compared to alphas or omegas, but they can still be quite strong in concentration, and Jon can’t help sinking into it as he sits there. When he closes his eyes, it’s as if Martin never left. He can imagine the beta, huge and solid and dependable, sitting with him on the cot. He could crowd Jon quite easily on the little bed, press him against the cool wall, keep him still. 

When Martin comes back, Jon’s half-mad with lust and starting to fray at the edges a bit. He tells himself to keep his eyes closed, his legs pressed tight together, to accept the water from Martin and say nothing. He’d nod in thanks and let Martin leave him, alone and wanting, in the cold room. 

But even in his addled state, Jon can tell something has changed. Martin’s expression is still concerned and caring, but there’s something a bit strained about it now. The freckles on his cheeks are lost amidst the gentle blush, and Jon can smell the faintest hint of arousal. 

Ah. So he finally realized what was happening. 

“Here’s the water,” Martin says, his voice overly-calm. He places the glass on a pile of boxes he seems to have repurposed into a bedside table. Those hands - large, gentle, warm - retreat to fidget, fingers tangling up together. 

Jon wills him to go. He aches for him to stay, dreading the idea of spending his heat in here, alone and insatiable. He doesn’t even have the comfort of home, and absolutely nothing in here would make do for a nest. Jon knows he will be absolutely miserable if Martin leaves, and now is the only chance they have before he breaks. 

But Martin is Martin, so of course he doesn’t just abandon Jon. Instead he hesitates by the door, eventually asking, “Is there… anything else I can do to help? Anything at all? I, um, really have no idea if there are any extra pillows or blankets here, but I could try looking… Or, uh, if you have a friend I could call to pick you up? I’d take you home myself if I thought- oh! _Your_ home, I mean! Not, not mine; of course not. I just mean-”

“Martin.”

The beta bites his lip. “Mm?”

“Will you come here?”

All of Martin’s fidgeting stops. His eyes, previously cast aside to stare at the glass of water, snap up to meet Jon’s. For a few seconds they merely look at each other, eyes wide. Then Martin says in a small voice, “You don’t really want me to… I, um, I shouldn’t-”

“Martin. You said you wanted to help, didn’t you?” Jon can feel his fragile self-control come undone, hears it in his own voice. “This would help.”

“But…”

“And I don’t mind it,” Jon admits, feeling his own cheeks darken with color. He should really worry about how hot he’s getting. “I don’t mind at all. That it’s you.” 

Martin blushes pink up to his ears. “O-oh.” 

“So would you please come here?” 

Martin walks over. He lowers himself onto the cot, keeping to the other half, knees only just brushing the edge of Jon’s skirt where it rests. He’s not too close, looking cautious and oddly afraid, but Jon can smell him: anxiety, lust, affection. He so obviously wants to take care of Jon, and Jon no longer has it in him to fight the urge to let him. 

He feels dizzy, watching Martin lick his lips. The beta clears his throat and says, “Alright, then. Let me know what I should do.” 

“Sit closer, please?” 

Martin smiles at that. It’s small and shy but genuine, and Jon realizes he absolutely isn’t going to regret any of what comes next. A sense of rightness falls over him, helps him to relax against Martin’s shoulder when the beta scooches closer and sits beside Jon, back to the wall. “This alright?”

“Yes, fine. I’m, um, probably going to cuddle you quite aggressively now.” 

“Oh!” 

Already, Jon is pressing his cheek to Martin’s shoulder, breathing deeply at his neck. The glands there allow him a much better sample of Martin’s natural scent, and Jon feels himself rumble with satisfaction at being so close to the beta like this. Martin’s scent is, overall, comforting, not nearly as overwhelming as that of an alpha. It’s familiar and makes him hungry for something, though he’s not sure what. Not food, not sex, just… something. 

Though, speaking of sex. 

It always takes Jon a little while to build up to it. He’s spent a heat with Georgie before, way back when they first started dating, but even then he had learned there was a quota to be met before Jon could indulge himself in any form of penetration. So he wraps his arms around Martin’s neck and pulls him closer, purposefully fighting against the beta’s efforts not to crush him. “Jon!” 

“Lay down on me,” grumbles the omega. “It feels nice.”

“I’m- I”m too big for that,” Martin protests, though Jon can hear the faint edge of a laugh in his tone. 

“I’ll be fine. Look, just your top half at least?” 

Eventually they settle into something comfortable, with Martin’s chest and stomach pressing Jon into the mattress. Meanwhile he nuzzles at Martin, kissing his cheeks and toying with his hair. After a few minutes of this, Martin is brave enough to reciprocate, and those hands begin to carefully move along Jon’s shoulders, the fingers digging in wherever they find little knots of tension. His mouth rests against Jon’s throat, not quite kissing. It reminds Jon of something, and soon he’s pulling back to tilt Martin’s head until the two of them can kiss.

It’s gentle at first, almost chaste, but the fire Jon has been ignoring encourages him to sigh and push into Martin’s mouth. It’s slick and easy, the kissing, something Jon can lose himself in while appreciating the grounding weight of Martin's body. 

Then, all too soon, Martin is pulling away to ask, “What do you need?”

The question brings Jon back into himself, makes him so very aware of the ache between his legs. He groans and tries to curl around Martin a bit, leg hiking over the beta’s waist. When Martin moves to accommodate him more, Jon slides his other thigh between the man’s legs, and feels the promising shape of his cock through his skirt. Excitement makes his heart race. There’s a very real fear he might start drooling soon. “Need you,” he gasps into Martin’s hair. “Need- fuck me, please.” 

Martin makes an odd sound against his throat, like he’s been caught off guard. “You’re sure?”

Jon nearly throws his head back to laugh. Instead it catches on his teeth and rumbles in his chest - he’s sure Martin can feel it where his cheek is pressed against Jon’s sternum. The omega takes Martin’s hand and guides it to his skirt. Hiking up the leg around Martin’s waist to bring the hem of his skirt down, he then pushes it up so that Martin can get his hand underneath. Jon adjusts so that Martin can feel the front of his briefs. 

“O- oh! Oh, wow, you’re, um- very... very wet.” 

“Tends to happen,” Jon snarks, “during heats.”

Martin laughs, though he sounds a bit breathless. Slowly, too slowly, his thumb runs along the elastic of Jon’s briefs before his fingers dip inside. “I’ve never been with an omega in heat before,” Martin offers. “Though I’ve, um, helped a few alphas with their ruts. Obviously that’s different though.” 

Something about the idea of Martin with alphas strikes Jon as a little odd, but there’s no time for him to discern the reason. Martin’s fingers find his cunt, hot and so, so slick, and any coherent thought is quite roughly ejected from his head. 

Though heats are largely concerned with things Jon would rather not think about if he doesn’t have to, there is a certain rudimentary pleasure to be found in submitting himself to his instincts. Without suppressants, there’s simply not much to be done about the overwhelming nature of one’s heat. So Jon lets himself indulge in it, lets the feeling of Martin’s fingers slipping into him become the only thing he has to care about. It’s a wonderful stretch; Martin was smart enough not to bother with testing him, pushing in two fingers at once, and they’re delightful, parting Jon’s walls with ease. He lets out a shuddering noise of utter relief, then bucks his hips, trying to bring Martin deeper. 

Martin remains steady and calm, and Jon can feel some of the wariness leave him. The beta sits up slightly, adjusts his arm to get a better angle, then adds two more fingers. Jon can only moan into his shoulder and hold him tight as Martin’s fingers fuck him open. As if he needs any help, at this point. But it’s good, so good, and it’s been so long since Jon has had his heat - since he’s had anyone. Right now, on the edge of his first orgasm, Jon can’t think of a place he’d rather be than here with Martin in this little room. 

It feels abrupt when Martin pulls out, and Jon can’t help his desperate whining. The beta says something, maybe nonsense - Jon can’t make it out. Then Martin is turning away, sitting up and standing so he can take off his jeans. Before discarding them, Jon sees him fish his wallet out of one pocket, and after a bit of fiddling with zippers, he pulls out a condom. 

Honestly, Jon had completely forgotten something like that might be necessary. He’s able to spare enough thought to appreciate Martin’s preparedness before he’s being loomed over again. Then Jon’s focus is on spreading his legs and baring his neck, fingers already hooking back into Martin’s cable knit sweater. 

After a few more kisses are delivered, with a few cautious nips from Martin on Jon’s neck, he pulls away to roll on the condom. With only a bit of trouble, given how damp they are, Martin helps Jon out of his briefs and tosses them on top of his discarded jeans. Then Martin uses both hands to firmly press down on Jon’s hips, and the feeling- it’s almost too much. Martin’s hands are so big, and he can feel the weight and strength behind them. It’s like Martin is trapping him beneath a sense of assured protectiveness, of quiet dominance, of pleasure promised. Jon feels dizzy with it. He can barely keep his eyes open, lost in a swirl of heady sensations. He doesn’t see Martin position himself. 

Taking Martin’s cock is easy and satisfying. Jon makes a deep sound in his throat, almost like a hiccup, and sighs as Martin fully sheaths himself. There’s no insistent press of a knot against Jon, and that's the only small disappointment to be found. Martin’s thighs tuck themselves beneath Jon’s, and soon he’s propped up over Jon, who yearns for his weight, his skin, his mouth. 

Jon wraps himself around Martin, keeping him as close as possible. As Martin rocks into him, Jon can’t help sneaking his hands beneath the beta’s sweater, hungry for soft skin. He lets his teeth graze over Martin’s neck, hot breath panting just over his glands. One bite and Jon knows he would be able to _taste_ Martin. “Can-” Jon moans just from the thought. “Can I-?”

“Mm!” Martin’s voice is pitched high with fervor and affirmation. Jon wastes no more time, relishing in the give of Martin’s flesh beneath his teeth. Martin lets out a startled gasp and his hips jerk, falling out of rhythm, side-stepping into something messier, deeper. 

For minutes, seconds, hours or ages, Jon is lost, drunk on friction and pheromones. It’s not too soon before he’s coming, trembling so hard he thinks he might fall apart, and that seems to be enough to push Martin over, too. The beta huffs, moaning, and wraps his thick arms around Jon’s middle, pulling him as tightly to his torso as possible, those final few thrusts grinding into Jon deliciously. 

He should feel quite thoroughly fucked, and in a sense he does, but something feels wrong when Martin pulls out, away. Jon opens his eyes, vision blurry with unshed tears, and squirms on the cot. Martin’s voice floats over from someplace nearby. “What’s wrong?”

“Not… enough,” Jon says slowly, trying to gather up enough brainpower to figure out what’s missing. He doesn’t like that Martin left, even if he’s only a few feet away, throwing away the condom. If he could manage it, he’d pull Martin back on top of him, but his limbs are quite useless at the moment. 

“Oh,” Martin says, “you’re probably just- well, you want a knot in you, don’t you?” 

The words send hot prickles down Jon’s spine. They make him ache; he’s empty, cold and wanting. “Mm…”

“I have an idea for that, actually,” Martin admits as he pulls his underwear back on. Jon manages to wipe at his eyes a little, enough to discern the shyness is back on Martin’s face. He appears perfectly sated, though no less pleased by the sight of Jon lying there, helpless and begging for more. Jon wonders if he’ll feel embarrassed about all this later, but then Martin is rubbing his stomach with one hand and the worry seems completely unimportant. 

“What’s the idea?” Jon asks, his voice a bit weak. 

“Well, I hope it will work. I’ve, uh, seen it done before, to replace a knot. Do you think you could handle my hand?”

“What?” 

“My hand. In you. Y’know… like, my fist?” 

Jon blinks, startled enough to feel his head clearing up a bit. “You’re going to put your entire hand in me?”

“I could, if you want,” Martin says, blushing fiercely. “I mean, with you in heat, you’re so wet. And after we- We just, uh, did that, so you’ll be loose still. It should be okay? You’ll have to promise to let me know if it’s too much though-”

“Can it even fit in there?” Jon asks, eyes wide, his mind racing. “Really? The whole thing?” 

Something about Jon’s question makes Martin giggle. “Yes, Jon, I think it’ll work. Do you want me to try? If I can get you off one more time and then, uh, leave it in there for a bit, it should help a lot.” 

“Yes,” Jon says, brightly, and he nods. He begins to shiver, thighs twitching, hips wiggling. The entirety of Martin’s hand _inside_ him… If he could manage it, his fist would be even bigger than a knot. The idea that he could have that inside makes Jon feel all the emptier. It makes him want to eagerly present himself to Martin, beg for it without words, but Jon really wants to make it out of this with at least a shred of dignity left. So he’ll have to compromise by reaching up to Martin and tugging on his fringe, pulling him down for a nuzzle and a kiss. 

Martin hums in his ear, and the sound is very soothing. Jon can still taste him, his scent heavy and sweet on his tongue. Jon kisses his neck again while Martin adjusts their positions slightly. One hand begins wrapping around his waist, finding a secure grip, while the other goes back beneath his rumpled skirt. Jon wouldn’t mind taking it off at this point, though it’s probably too late to save it from any wet spots or stains. But when Martin pulls back to move himself downward, cheek resting against Jon’s ribs, he does appreciate the sight of Martin’s hand and arm disappearing beneath the heavy purple fabric. 

Then his fingers are back, inspecting Jon’s folds, his hole, stoking his fire and slickness. “I do wish we had some lubricant,” he feels Martin sigh against his stomach. Jon can’t help frowning at the implication that he needs any help in that department. “You promise you’ll tell me if it hurts?” 

“I think it’s more likely one of us is going to get hurt if you keep stalling,” Jon grumbles, gently closing his thighs around Martin’s hand. One quick little roll of his hips is just enough to please him, Martin’s hand bumping against his clit. Jon feels his impatience mounting, but Martin only seems amused, kissing his stomach as he wiggles his fingers until Jon relents and pulls his thighs open once more. 

“Promise, Jon.”

“I promise! Yes, of course, now just- just put it in.” 

He should’ve known it would be too much to ask for Martin to be reckless, to push himself into Jon all at once. Perhaps impossible, too - he’s never done anything like this, has never even seen it done. But at least Martin is kind, and so after two tentative fingers dip in to check him out, he’s quick to add the others. Thumb on Jon’s clit, Martin’s fingers rock into him, bundled together to stretch him open, often spreading apart when fully inside. Jon tries not to clench, tries to relax into it. He takes deep breaths and lets Martin work. 

Soon enough, Martin is nuzzling Jon’s side as his thumb moves downward. It seems easy enough, tucking it in with the rest. But then Martin is pushing, still, pushing deeper, and Jon feels himself stretch. Martin’s knuckles are right up against him. Martin’s hand is nearly inside, and it’s big enough to hurt, faint, hot pain burning between Jon’s legs. 

He must make a sound, because Martin’s fist retracts slightly and he sits up a bit, enough to look over at Jon. “You alright?”

“F-fine,” Jon gasps. “Um, mostly, mostly I’m fine. Just- just a bit-”

“Too much?”

“Uh, no, no,” Jon pants, desperate, wanting it so badly but not wanting to lie, not to Martin, not right now. “Or just, um, just a bit, just go slowly I think.”

“Yeah?”

“Please, yes, please.” 

Martin settles back down, his weight a reassurance against Jon, who wishes he could curl up around him more. As he is, he can only grab at the solitary pillow by his head, tugging it into his arms to hold as Martin pushes into him again. 

It takes a steady hand and more patience than Jon possesses on his own, but Martin manages to ease into him past the knuckles, and there is no more hurt, only the satisfaction of the stretch, the fullness. Martin’s hand is a conspicuous intrusion whose presence lights up Jon’s entire body. And all that is before Martin begins to minutely pump it, back and forth, never quite pulling out of Jon, but somehow inching deeper, and Jon writhes and moans beneath it, truly helpless. It feels so good, so good he might die, and he feels himself clutch down on Martin’s hand, pulling him in to the wrist. “God, _Martin!”_

“Wonderful, you’re doing wonderfully,” Martin is whispering, his voice deep and hot against Jon’s skin. “You took it all, didn’t you? Fuck, you’re amazing.” 

“Ahh!” Jon’s entire body jolts once, twice, before he’s biting at the pillow to smother his screams. Somehow, Martin adjusts his fist, clenching his fingers in a way that feels like swelling, and he pointedly tries to pull out of Jon to no avail. It kicks Jon off and over the edge; the orgasm rips through him so thoroughly he loses all sense of self, lost to the heat and pressure. 

When Jon comes to, Martin is softly kissing his stomach, nuzzling some of the little hairs growing around his naval that disappear beneath his skirt. His fist remains in Jon. When Jon tries to move even an inch, he feels the resistance, the scraps of pleasure, and moans. 

Martin kisses him again, and again, then asks, “Want it out?”

“No,” Jon says, feeling inebriated and slow. “No… not yet?”

“Alright.” 

“Mm, Martin…”

“Hm?” 

“Come here…”

A laugh ghosts along Jon’s torso. “I can’t; I shouldn’t move too much. Until you’re ready.” 

“Hrgmg.” 

“Do you want me to-”

“Nooooo.”

“Okay, okay.” 

It takes a full ten minutes before Jon lets him pull out. It’s a careful process that nevertheless leaves Jon aching. He’s terribly aware of his own wetness, and the sound of Martin’s hand sliding out of him makes him blush quite fiercely. 

“Ah- I really should’ve brought a towel in here,” Martin laughs, clearly just as flustered. Jon is in the middle of thinking how to respond when Martin brings his hand up to his mouth and licks one finger clean.

“Martin!” 

The beta’s blush is bright pink and adorable, his expression some amusing mix of indignance and embarrassment. “What! I was, um, curious. It- you- smell nice. The, the scent I mean, it’s very strong…” 

Jon can only shake his head, burying his face in the pillow. How is he supposed to calm down when Martin does stuff like that? 

Martin huffs a laugh, patting Jon’s knee with his clean hand. Jon feels him get up off the cot and looks up to see him wiping his hand with a dirty shirt. Catching Jon’s eye, he says, “I’m going to go wash up before- do you, um… Can I help you to the restroom? And then, ah, I suppose we should figure some things out, like, if we’re both staying here, what you can wear for tomorrow, and-”

“Martin.”

“Yes?” 

“Just come here.” 

Martin’s warm and comfortable, letting Jon climb into his lap and tuck himself beneath his chin. Just for a moment, Martin tells him, though his hands seem secure where they hold him, perfectly content to stay where they are. 


End file.
